


A Broken Image

by PseudoScience (Hexecutioner)



Category: Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Might be romance later, Not entirely sure yet, if i slip up let me know, still working it out, trying to keep reader gender neutral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexecutioner/pseuds/PseudoScience
Summary: You've been left behind. Betrayed. Forgotten. Maybe Damien and Celine aren't the only ones with a score to settle...





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 0

A Broken Image

 

“This’ll work. I promise…”

The world fades from darkness to monochrome accented by red and blue. Your vision swims uncertainly for a few seconds before you center yourself by watching the stationary chandelier above you.

You splutter and gasp as pain crashes down on you, but recedes almost immediately. You lay winded for a moment before forcing yourself onto your knees. Standing up isn’t easy, but you manage it after a few seconds of flopping about on the floor before righting yourself. You glance around yourself, taking stock of what happened.

The colonel. The gunshot. Falling. Darkness. The promise Damien made you.

You look down at your hands, and bloodstained though they are, they are indeed yours. You feel giddy, it worked! You were back!

You turn to your right hurriedly…and find yourself face to face with the man that caused your untimely demise. You stumble backwards in fright, but he rapidly stands, looking at you with something of mixed awe and confusion.

“Oh! No, no! It’s okay!” He gestures placatingly with his right hand seeing your defensive posture. He comes a bit closer, seeing you loosen up a bit, “I-I thought you were dead…” He trails off, obviously still shocked at the fact that you were alive.

“I-I-I mean, of course you’re not dead! How could you be dead?” He makes his way around the table in the middle of the room, and you keep it between yourself and him as you see the beginning of his mind unravelling, “I-I-I wouldn’t have killed you. I-I didn’t kill you.” Unfortunately, you run out of table and he begins moving towards you again, now more confused than awed by your presence. He looks down as he sets Damien’s cane on a side table.

“I mean, of course… I-I… Of course. I didn’t kill anybody.” He begins backing away slowly, laughing slightly, some type of understanding coming over him, “It was all a joke! Of course, it’s all a joke! Were you in on this?” He comes back over, and laughs giddily, pointing at you.

“Did Damien put you up to this? Of course he did! Damien! Where are you, you rapscallion?” He lurches backwards, almost falling over as he calls for his friend. He begins searching the house, his calls slowly becoming more desperate and deranged as he searches for his lost love and his best friend.

You stand there in shock, watching the manic man walk away. You glance down at the cane he left on the table. You turn to look at it fully and hesitantly reach out a hand to grasp it, to mourn the loss of Damien. As your hand wraps around it, your hand changes, turning into the hand of a man. You look up into the mirror in shock, and see a facsimile of Damien’s face looking back at you.

“It worked! We did it, we’re back!” You feel yourself smile at him, even though it doesn’t reflect in the mirror. He looks away, staring at his cane as if it were foreign to him. You feel yourself lose your smile, “It worked. Damien, now we can…” you trail off as he cracks his neck.

The glass shatters, and your world is once again defined in monochrome accented with red and blue. Pain spikes through your abdomen as the full weight of the pain from the gunshot returns, nearly incapacitating you. You lean heavily against the glass as you look out at him. “Damien? What are you doing? What happened?”

He keeps staring at the cane, obviously ignoring you. “Damien, what’s wrong? We can fix this! Together!” You try to reach out your hand, but you are blocked, shattered glass blocking your way. You look around desperately, searching for a way past the divisor.

He looks up into the glass, and for a moment guilt and sadness flash in his eyes, deeper and stronger than anything you’d ever seen before. It’s gone before you can blink, and he pulls up his lip in a snarl of rage.

“Damien?” You whisper, hand falling against the glass in a plea for help. He barely glances at you before he straightens his suit and walks away, leaving you to your prison.

You begin pounding on the glass in a mad frenzy, hoping that its already deformed surface would give way under your fist, “Damien! Wait! You can’t do this! Come back!” A chill comes over you as the darkness begins to eat away at your body heat. “Damien! Don’t leave me here, please! Damien, please! DAMIEN! YOU PROMISED!”

With that final declaration, darkness takes your consciousness, leading you further into the void.


	2. Separation of the Mind

Chapter 0.5

Separation of the Mind

 

Smooth wood rests in his hand, dark and well-polished, and entirely foreign to this form. It takes a moment for him to focus the eyes of this body. His new limbs feel laden and stiff, and he can feel his bones creak as he tries to move. There is an intense humming in his mind as another mind contests his for control, while another lies dormant from exertion. It’s quite annoying.

He pushes against the mind, and the humming escalates, he pushes it into a corner, and then out, into the reflection of the mirror in front of him. His mind quiets, but not completely, the ringing now fainter compared to the overwhelming tidal wave of sound it was before.

He hears words echo in his mind, in a familiar voice.

“It worked! We did it, we’re back!” He stiffens slightly at the joyful hope in the voice of his District Attorney, the realization of what he’s done just hitting him. Confusing him too. He tightens his grip on the cane, and stares at it, trying to gather himself.

Something begins welling up in his mind, an intense power he had never felt before. Celine is stirring, coming to herself to acclimate herself to the new body they now share. The pressure begins to grow on his mind, the ringing swelling once again as her power floods into their shared host.

“It worked Damien.” The power becomes unbearable, “Now we can-” He cuts them off with a crack of his neck, and the growing power is released, completely shattering the mirror in front of him. His mind has fallen silent, his connection to the disembodied individual completely snapping.

He straightens his suit jacket, and finally looks up into the mirror. He watches as their face contorts with a mix of pain and fear as they enter the void. He watches their mouth move, their cries obviously desperate as they pound silently against the once reflective surface of the mirror. He pauses for a moment as the realization of what his power release had wrought sets in.

A mixture of guilt and sadness spears him through the heart, moving to settle deep in his gut, before reminding himself what this is for. He needs revenge. For himself, for Celine, for William, for what Mark had turned him into. His guilt is eaten at by the flame of his hatred, and soon rage is all that consumes him.

He turns away from the mirror, leaving the shattered remains of his trust.

Celine finally surfaces from the depths of their shared psyche, her calm red soothing the icy rage of his blue. He can feel the question rising from her as he walks towards the direction of the colonel’s manic cries. He finds the man curled on the steps on the far side of the house, almost hiding on the landing.

His beloved spectacles lie broken several steps down, obviously stepped on in a mad dash up the steps. His full uniform is nowhere to be seen, only his disheveled shirt and suspenders. The broken man rocks back and forth with his head in his hands, giggling occasionally despite the tears pouring down his face.

The pair feel their collective heart shatter at the sight of the once proud man reduced to insanity. It was all their fault. They could have prevented this, if only they had been faster, if only they had known… Damien assures that his body looks at least slightly presentable and reaffirms his grip on his cane before approaching their friend.

A gray hand lined evenly blue and red hesitantly lands on the colonel’s shoulder. The man jerks in response, looking up at the reanimated corpse, his eyes glossy and alight with mania.

“Damien…” The man practically launches himself at his friend, encapsulating him in a bone crushing hug. Literally. The spine of the body crackles in a reminder of the damage previously inflicted on it. The colonel begins sobbing harder, words babbled faster than they can be understood.

Celine immediately takes control, relegating Damien to the back burner. Damien’s voice is softer and kinder than before, and lacks his usual accent.

“Shh, shh, shh. It’ll be alright.” She slowly sinks the pair of them to the ground, setting Damien’s cane down before running calming fingers through Will’s hair. Damien radiates concern, but doesn’t act. Celine is much better at comforting his friend than he is and given his current emotional state, he’s not the best equipped to deal with the situation.

They stay that way for an unknown amount of time, until William is all but hanging off of them, heaving massive breaths instead of sobs. Celine softly maneuvers the two of them to be face to face, dark eyes kind and soft.

“Will, why are you crying. I’m here aren’t I?” The man nods numbly.

“You almost had me there. You almost had me convinced. But you’re here. You’re alive.” He whispers his words, gripping forearms that look and feel like Damien’s. Confusion and a cold grip of fear slips down Celine’s spine, and subsequently Damien’s as well.

“Will, what do you mean?” The man looks up at the body inhabited by his two closest friends and smiles blindingly.

“It was all a joke!” This time the fear is real and biting, immediately clawing its way through their torso. Celine stiffens, but tries to show no outward sign of their collective shock. She merely has Damien’s hands grip the colonel’s forearms as tightly as he holds theirs.

“A joke…yes. It was all a…joke. We got you good, didn’t we?” Damien’s voice warbles and stutters in hesitation, Celine comforting her love in the only way she can. Indignation and rage spike from Damien, and he watches and he reaches towards the colonel without moving from the body, his shell cracking at the clash of wills.

William hardly seems to notice what with his sudden outburst of mad laughter. He leans backwards in his kneeling position, nearly falling over in his mirth.

“I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it…” He giggles and trails off, eyes dark with insanity. “So where are the others? Where’s the nice one that was with you? You know, your DA. I expect they were in on it too, that rapscallion.” William looks up at Damien’s face expectantly.

The entirety of Celine’s consciousness turns towards Damien, a mix of shock, realization, and anger rocking the pair of them to the core. Damien flares back with guilt and stubborn indignation. Celine pushes it to the side, to obviously be discussed at a later, more private date.

“Y-yes. They certainly were. They had something else they needed to do, so they took their leave of us.” Celine barely manages to stutter out a timely response, and offers Will a watery smile that he takes in stride.

“You pulled it off so well! How did you do it? I-I-I… really thought you were dead…” He trails off towards the end, eyes searching Damien’s face as though it could vanish any moment. “That wasn’t a very nice joke.” Celine smooths down the back of the colonel’s shirt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to go that far.” Having regained a bit of composure, her reply is much smoother this time. She grabs the nearly forgotten cane begore making her host body stand, and helps William to his feet. “We should go.” The man nods, and manages to hold himself somewhat steady on his feet.

She leads them to the foyer, and catches sight of the shattered mirror. Instead of any earthly projection, its reflection is as dark as the void they were trapped in, lined in the same red and blue of her and Damien’s combined power. Damien feels Celine’s anger begin boiling up, and he dreads the coming fight with her.

Celine watches the mirror for a moment, but turns away, knowing there’s nothing she can do for them at the moment. She’s too weak. She resolves to fix that.

William follows behind them like a lost puppy, focusing solely on what he perceives to be Damien. Celine opens the front door, ushering her former lover over the threshold. Damien slowly makes his way back to the surface of the psyche, taking over bodily functions while Celine focuses on sifting through thought and emotion.

He leads them towards the front gate, but not before he catches a glance of two figures in blue making their way down already. He considers following them, but Celine brushes her consciousness against his in an obvious ‘no’. He acquiesces, knowing he’s going to have a hard-enough time explaining himself to her later. No need to anger her further.

As they make their way down from the mansion, the sun fully crests over the horizon, bathing the house in full sunlight. The glare from the windows makes the house look alight with fire.


	3. A Shard of Light

Chapter 1

A Shard of Light

 

A dilapidated mansion stands on the crest of a hill, walls crumbling, foundation shattered, interior musty and degraded. The path leading up to the once extravagant home is overgrown with green, thistles and thorns creating a large and imposing barrier to any potential intruder.

A lone figure makes its way up the winding road, a worn but well-polished black cane in their right hand. Their strides are long and confident despite the uneven footing of uprooted and upturned flagstones, their fine black leather shoes whispering across their time-worn surfaces. The dangerous plant life almost seems to bend to retreat from them, curling away from their presence, making every attempt to protect itself.

The man clears the overgrown path, and pauses at the center of a large courtyard, considering the previously magnificent home. Where proud turrets once stood now lies nothing but rubble and refuse, their windows all but sand and its stones ground to dust. He approaches the gaping maw where a door would have once stood, and easily steps over the darkened threshold.

His finely tailored black suit stands in stark contrast to the tattered remains of once lavish drapery, now lying prone and dirty on the floor. Afternoon sunlight pours in unhindered, bleaching the marble of the floor nearly white.

Instead of exploring the strange landscape of the rotting house, he merely turns his head to look at the demolished structure, eyes holding only the vaguest sense of curiosity. He has more important things to think about than the state of his old haunt.

He briskly walks around the marble table that dominates the foyer to what lies behind it. A broken mirror. Pieces of glass grate and shriek under his foot as he passes, making his way intently towards his prize.

The mirror is devastated, most of the pieces lying either on the ground or blowing away in the wind. The largest piece is only about the length and width of a clenched fist.

The finely dressed man ticks his cane under his right arm as he swoops down to pick up said piece, turning it over and over in his hands, looking at all of its flaws and sharp edges that match his own. The piece of shattered glass glints harshly in the sun, as if hissing at it to go away. There are faint blue and red reflections in the glass, nothing of this world, but perhaps of the next.

As he considers the glass, a particularly sharp edge catches the ridges of his right forefinger. The man almost seems surprised, and lets out a grunt in pain. He brings it to his lips instinctively, but after a moment of hesitation, holds it where he can see it.

Instead of blood, his gray skin leaks nothing, a void merely takes up the place where whole skin used to be. After a moment of concentration, the pain is no more. His hand returns to the glass unscathed.

The man chuckles amusedly.

“Trying to get your revenge?”

The glass merely twinkles in response. He sighs through his nose, and finally a useful reflection catches in its dark and unending depths. The back of a suit jacket similar to his own, but slimmer, seems to rest on the reflection from its other side.

The man’s eyes soften, and he runs a tender thumb over the reflection of the back, almost comfortingly.

“It’s been awhile old friend.” The back in the reflection stirs, but only to curl further in on itself. He hears them mutter something, but doesn’t make it out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat yourself if you’d like to be heard. Louder this time, if you please.” His voice is barely over a whisper, but there is an amused tone in his one-sided banter with the image.

 “Go away. You aren’t real. You can't be...” The voice is quiet and hoarse from disuse, but makes itself heard with effort. The man smiles at the shard of glass before he processes what was said. He huffs in offense.

“I am indeed real. Mayhap you should have your eyes checked.” The image barks out a broken laugh in response. His smile widens, “You should get out more. It’s bad for your health to stay cooped up.”

There is no response this time, the figure ignoring him. This has dark eyes dimming, rare smile dropping, emotions racing through him as he stays silent, guilt most pronounced among them. He clasps the shard of the mirror harder, pain biting at his palms as the sharp ridges break skin.

“I’m sorry.”

The person in the mirror stiffens, letting out a small breath of air, their shoulders dropping for a moment before coming back up defensively. There is still no response, so he allows the hand holding the shard to drop to his side. His aura flashes blue, and he feels himself hunched over, wracked with silent sobbing as he stands motionless.

Red flares and gains back control, and after a moment his aura stabilizes. He looks down at the shard again, nothing once again reflecting in its black depths, nothing but blue and red. He stuffs the shard in his left pocket, replaces his cane in his right hand, and takes his leave of the dreadful manor.

He walks away silently, head down, left hand in his pocket. He turns smartly just before the house is out of view. He stares at it a moment, considering the structure. There is a dull snap, then a roar as the manor catches fire in front of him. He traces the edges of the shard of mirror as he watches the home of his former friend turn to ash.

It takes nearly two hours for the fire to consume everything, leaving behind nothing but charred remains, the mansion a crumbling husk of its former glory. He tears his eyes away from the scene, and makes his way down from on high.


	4. The Ghost of You

Chapter 2

The Ghost of You

 

By the time Dark returned to the headquarters it was sunset, the deep indigo sky casting its final rays onto the darkened streets. A dangerous gleam flits in their eye as they walk, casting just a bit more of their aura out than usual. The reality around them warps into monotone black and white, nearly unnoticeable in the darkness, but exerting enough pressure to be felt several feet away.

Normally the opportunity to fight or destroy any mortal foolish enough to stalk them keeps them from any displays of power, but they, Celine especially, are in no mood to make merry. Therefore, it’s better to dissuade any such idiocy before there is any opportunity for it to arise.

The attempt at walking silently by the human behind them is miserable, and shows just how desperate or mad they must be to not take the primal hint to leave. The quickening of steps reveals their intent, and before the human can so much as brush against them, their ‘potential mugger’ has vanished. Dark feels only the slightest drain of power at the action. Casting objects into the void is so much easier now than it used to be.

They stop in front of a tall office building to rope in their reality-shaping aura before swiftly making an entrance. The carpeted floors make no sound as they glide down the hall.

“So how did your ‘personal business’ go Dark? I wasn’t aware you had anything akin to a life.”

Dark grunts and turns to see a well-dressed man with slicked back hair and a confident swagger. The man’s brown eyes are alert with a dangerous curiosity only reporters seem to be able to scrounge up.

“I don’t see why what I do on my time is any of your concern Bim,” Dark purrs smoothly, “especially given your past with such information. I prefer to not have my life broadcasted on channel five news twenty four hours a day.”

Celine watches with great amusement as the man slowly puffs up like an angry pigeon. He makes to open his mouth, probably with a snide comment, but Celine ensures his silence. Darkness ripples outwards from the shadows, tendrils teasing at Bim’s ankles and winding themselves up his legs.

Trimmer pales and stills, worried that the slightest move might mean his demise. Celine moves closer to him, a sinister smile gracing her face. She circles him once as shadows begin dripping from the ceiling onto the man’s shoulders, their weight suffocating.

She stands nose to nose with Bim, and grabs his jaw with one hand, black nails slightly longer and sharper than they had been before, leaving crescents in Trimmer’s skin. She lifts her hand until the man is straining his neck to keep himself from being lifted off the floor.

“I would be careful if I were you Trimmer. Don’t think that any amount of your picking or prodding will result in anything. I suggest you slink back to that hellhole you call home and consider your mistakes,” she hisses, and squeezes her hand, accentuating her point. The man nods desperately, eyes wide in terror.

All at once the shadows are gone, and Bim Trimmer sits on the ground rubbing his jaw, watching the retreating back of Darkiplier. They continue down the hall, towards a heavy oak door that seems oddly out of place among the cheap plywood and glass doors that make up most of the building. They quickly enter their office, seeking solace in the privacy of the richly decorated room.

Every inch of the room speaks of power. From the heavy Persian carpet on the floor, to the massive ebony desk that tops it, to the fine drapery that blocks the sun. They trail their hand on the sleek wood of the desk as they pass, pulling out the throne-like chair behind it.

They slump into their seat, and throw the cane on the desk in front of them with a clatter, almost carelessly. Something digs into their side as they sit, and they pull out a piece of mirror from their left pocket.

Celine only feels guilt as she gazes at the piece, her attachment shallower than Damien’s. She hadn’t known his DA for that long after all. They had spent maybe two hours, maximum, together. It was enough though. She had agonized over her acquaintance’s fate for many years, angry at herself for being powerless, angry at Damien for what he’d done, but also at them. They caused her so much pain despite the relatively short time they’d known each other.

Damien though, he knew them. His overwhelming guilt and rage often kept him from rest. Sometimes it would even hit him in the middle of the day, at something small that reminded him of them. Whether it be a mirror, a person, or even just Wilford. It would just be too much to contain. So he cracks his shell at a vain attempt at venting his emotions.

The pair decided long ago that they would not rest until they were powerful enough to bring them back. Then their emotional agony could end and their revenge could be fully realized with the aid of their third part. All that was needed was the correct…medium now.

With all their searching, they had done it. Found you. Well, a you that wasn’t you, but you enough for it to work. It is also you that is the problem. Just as back in their own universe, you were close to Mark. Granted, he isn’t the man that betrayed Damien, took his body, and began gallivanting about in it like a child. He isn’t the man that hurt Celine, cheated on her, and forced her to live as she now does. No, he is not that man.

It doesn’t prevent years of repressed hatred from welling up at the sight of him though.

Damien sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging at its ends disinterestedly, a faint scent of sugar in the air. He suddenly straightens, tensing, looking at the door. The cane vanishes half a second before the door is busted open by Wilford, the colorful man smiling at the glowering Dark.

“Dark, my buddy old pal, why’re you holed up in this dump? You should hang out with old Wilfie every once in a while, y’know?” The man pulls at his suspenders and winks, a bright pink aura filling the room as the scent of fresh cotton candy assaults Dark’s nose. They sigh and look Wilford in the eye.

“Wilford. You know I’m busy.” The aforementioned man looks around the room with a raised eyebrow, appraising what he sees, and coming to some conclusion.

“Yes, I can see. See that you’re real busy being a party pooper in your little bat cave.” Dark huffs in offense, affronted at being called out on his brooding. Before he can reply, the candy scented man has already removed Dark bodily from across the desk, holding them above his head like a trophy. “Onward march!”

Wilford takes off, his friend in unwilling tow.


	5. Glitz and Terror

Chapter 3

Glitz and Terror

 

It’s a party. Of course it is. Why would it ever be anything else? Dark stands in the middle of a nightclub, music blasting, the bass turned up so much that the sound waves have everyone’s hair flying around. They keep themselves to the wall mostly, or near the bar. The void only knows how much they’ll need to drink to keep themselves functioning.

Right in the center of the glittering storm is Wilford, as pink and glitzy as the rest of the party-goers. Somehow the man hasn’t begun waving his gun around, thank the heavens. Dark doesn’t need another incident on his hands. The last one was hard enough to wipe from the minds of the masses.

So, Damien stands in the corner watching, babysitting if you like. These parties are the bane of his existence, maybe even his personal hell. Even college wasn’t this bad. He swirls some type of blue fruity cocktail in his right hand, face impassive if a bit annoyed. He drinks heavily from the glass, and Celine nudges him a bit, irritation at him spiking. He growls and ignores her, downing the rest of it in another go.

The dangerously neon drink had little to no burn going down, its alcohol content nowhere near his tolerance level. He returns to the bar shortly, ordering himself a Manhattan. Celine shoves harder, angry now, and trying to dissuade him. His blue flares slightly, and his skin becomes slightly grayer as he grips the smooth countertop tightly enough to crack its sealant.

The bartender returns with his drink, and he snatches it without so much as a word to the woman, before returning to his slightly darker corner. The giggling of several girls catches his attention, and he notices several girls looking over at him and batting their eyelashes. He has to prevent himself from snarling at them.

At this point, Celine has had more than enough of his shit, and tries to force him to give her control. They battle for only a second before Damien succumbs to his irritation and hands over the reins. Celine settles into her skin easily, blinking to adjust to the lighting.

She considers the drink in her hand, before just deciding to nurse it, and see how it goes. Wilford makes his way through the crowd, grin wide as he approaches Dark.

“Hey, Dark, don’t stand in the corner and brood! I brought you here to have fun, loosen up a bit!” he does a little dance move to get his point further across. He turns and winks coyly at the drunk women obviously sizing the pair up, and turns back to Dark, nudging her in the side.

“You could at least get yourself laid, you know!” Celine feels faint amusement at the suggestion, but feels more melancholy than anything else. She swirls the Manhattan in her hands before taking a sip.

“Thanks for the suggestion Wilford, but I think I’m plenty entertained by the wonderful show you’ve put on,” she replies smoothly, even adding in a hint of Damien’s accent. Her friend beams excitedly, vibrating a worrying amount.

“You think so? I did really outdo myself this time, if I do say so!” He turns and rolls his moustache between his forefingers, looking entirely too pleased with himself. She smiles softly at him before taking another sip.

“Yes, I do. In fact, I-” she is cut off by the massive sound of an explosion, and suddenly there is glitter everywhere. A glitter cannon. Celine pales a bit at the high volume quickly approaching. She isn’t fast enough to teleport away, and is blasted full force in the face with a ball of pink glitter.

She nearly tips with its force, but manages to remain standing at the price of the Manhattan she had begun growing fond of. She stands there a moment, shell-shocked. Wilford looks just as surprised before bursting into full on laughter, guffawing at the glitterfied state of his friend.

Celine forces a smile and a weak laugh. Damien was right. Parties are hell.

 

* * *

 

If there’s one thing that irks Dark more than impromptu snatches of his person late at night it would probably be the spontaneous parties that Wilford throws at said times. As much as Celine and Damien care for the man, being seated in front of the other egos with a horrifying amount of pink glitter in their hair that is most definitely not coming out anytime soon and a hangover headache the size of Russia is not what they signed up for. As much as Damien tries to fix his hair, running his hand through it only forces the grains deeper into his scalp.

Celine could feel the tension in the room as soon as the egos looked up to acknowledge their presence once the door had slammed open. Nobody had said anything as Damien stalked to his chair at the head of the table, their mouths agape. Only The Host was really unaffected, continuing a quiet narration that settled into the background as white noise.

Dark seats themselves, and glares around the entire table, daring them to say anything. Wilford prances into the room a moment later, a massive smile on his face and a red party hat on top of his head. He seats himself opposite Dark, his massive shit-eating grin not losing an ounce of its mirth as he sets his feet on the table. Google looks between the two of them before clearing his throat with a glitch.

“The primary objective of this meeting is to settle on-” the blue shirted robot is ever so rudely interrupted by a loud, obnoxious voice that could belong to only one individual.

“Suh, dudes. So, like, Dark, what happened, bro? What’s with the glitter?” Bing points out the elephant in the room with an alarming accuracy that borders on stupidity. Everyone freezes again, and obviously doesn’t turn to look at the menacing presence of their leader.

Damien slowly turns obsidian eyes on Bing, as if his infinitesimal existence had just come into their notice. They look the ego up and down, seemingly considering his question. The growing silence is broken by a cheerful laugh.

“Dark and I partied it up last night!” Wilford replies on Dark’s behalf, grin still present and still shit-eating. Dark’s attention snaps to Will, eyes narrowing as they realize that this is happening. “It was great! We were laughing and having a good time, then suddenly, bang!” Wilford puts his hands up in gesticulation along with his exclamation, and everyone jumps, paling.

“The next thing I know, Dark here is entirely covered in glitter! It couldn’t have gone better if I had planned it myself.” He lifts his chin proudly, obviously trying to strike some sort of pose. Its effect is ruined by the growing monotone section of the room as Dark calmly stares down the table at Wilford.

Many egos stare at Wilford pleadingly, eyes full of fear or nervousness. The two younger ones, Bing and Pokeplier, look at Will in interest. The Host has even stopped narrating, simply listening tensely.

“It kinda reminds me, he used to be a total party animal! Dark has really toned it down these past few years, he even used to do-”

The room is plunged into darkness, the only source of light two glowing cerulean eyes that stare down at Wilford in rage. There is the sound of something shattering, and a horrendous whine fills the air as the electricity of the building reacts to the growing power in the room.

“WILLIAM!” A voice barks, the wrath of hell echoing in its depths. The room lightens a bit, and Dark’s standing figure can be made out in the shadows, his eyes lighting his white dress shirt in the gloom. “I think that is quite enough.” Without further ado, he fades into shadow, teleporting from the meeting room.

Wilford picks himself up from where he was thrown into the tv, the fog of confusion overtaking his mind. The egos sit stock still, the older ones in fear that it’s not over, and the younger ones in awe at the display of power. Fully cowed, Bing retreats into his seat, curling up a bit. After a moment of silence The Host stands, walks over to Wilford, and leads him out of the room silently, the black surface of the shattered tv glinting blue and red.


	6. The Start of Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience with me! There's been some stuff happening in my life, specifically finals, taking care of my family, and all of the holiday stuff, so I've barely had time to write! Not to mention the fact that I have horrible writer's block, and actually started at the computer for a full half an hour before churning out a sentence I was happy with.
> 
> Now back to the good stuff. Here's a new chapter for all of you!

Chapter 4

The Start of Something New

 

Dark’s office is plunged into twilight as they enter through its shadows. They stumble forward towards their desk blindly, groping for its smooth surface. They pull their chair back with a snap, falling into it, desperately searching for support for their quickly failing body. A whine permeates the room, deep and electrical, energy thrumming wildly through the room, untamed and uncontrolled. Power in its raw form.

Dark’s aura fluctuates wildly, blue and red hissing and spitting, the darkness of the room only interrupted by their light. Blank eyes stare down at the surface of the desk, eyes as black as the room. There is a burst of quick energy, and Damien’s cane appears before them on the desk. With one fluid motion, it is taken and snapped in half, splinters flying off into the darkness of the room. It’s broken again, and again, and again, torn apart like so much paper.

Dark wedges their head between their knees, a different kind of whine slicing through the darkness, laced with pain, and suffering, and guilt.

Shadows snake their way across gray skin, writhing and thrumming with a wild rhythm. Whispers and echoes fill the room, the electrical thrum becoming regular, akin to a heartbeat.

The two auras finally settle themselves, Celine and Damien retracting as far as possible from each other. Despite this their minds still brush, flashes of pain and rage slicing through the both of them, owners indistinguishable.

Blue flashes through the room, echoes of agonized screams interspersed with the deafening electrical hum. Hands tear at the roots of unnaturally dark hair, pink glitter falling from it in inconsistent showers.

Slowly, the power storm slows, its frantic struggle becoming sluggish and stagnant, merely hanging in the air like toxic fog. Shadows return to their master, flowing languidly to pool in their body like blood. Darkness releases its hold on the room, flooding it with all too much daylight due to the state of disrepair the once lavish draperies have fallen into.

All but one of their books lie scattered around, covers ripped off their fronts, pages torn, spines destroyed. The only survivor is a slim book in the back of one of the massive bookcases that line either side of the office. Red slowly outlines the inert gray body at the center of the destruction, life slowly blinking back into black eyes.

Celine takes in the carnage around her, and her lip lifts slightly in a mix of disgust and anger, directed mostly at a nearly catatonic Damien. She rises slowly from the chair, and shadows slowly gather the remains of the books, depositing them neatly on the desk.

The heartbeat hum of the electricity slowly recedes as she reinforces order on the power expelled by her brother. She eyes the scattered pieces of his cane, and with a sigh, directs the shadows to place them on the desk as well, ensuring that every piece is found.

She slowly tests Damien’s consciousness, pressing and prodding. Still unresponsive. She nods idly. That will make this less unpleasant then. Slowly teasing a bit of his force free, she feels its cold and unfamiliar power coat her hands. She touches the cane, and it melds back into whole, smooth wood. It retains its time-worn appearance, but is as new as it was before it was so unceremoniously destroyed. Turning to the books, she debates restoring them as well. After a moment’s deliberation, she takes more of his power, and begins the process of restoring them to their former glory.

By the end of an hour, she had restored most of them, the scent of fresh paper blooming in the room comfortingly as they returned to their places on the bookshelves, whole and untouched. She hesitates to place the last book, just in front of the small volume in the corner of the case.

Celine slips it out of place as she places the last book in its slot, standing in front of the bookshelf, book in hand. She releases Damien’s power with a shudder, her red energy rushing in to soothe the unnatural power exchange with a calm warmth.

She inspects the familiar book, its fabric cover a deep green with an engraved silver triple spiral adorning its front. She idly flips through the old pages, inked notes completely filling the small book, critiquing its content. The handwriting is nigh unintelligible and entirely in Latin. She huffs, her old notes amusing her slightly as she remembers her first timid steps into the world of witchcraft.

Shaking her head slightly, removing herself from nostalgia, she places it on the shelf and begins returning to the desk, before stopping abruptly. Her head turns so abruptly that her neck crackles uncomfortably. She rushes back to the bookcase, tearing out her old green journal.

She slams it down onto the desk and throws herself into the chair, frantically pouring through the pages to find what she needs. Her hand pauses over one word, before she gently places it on the page, her grin manic and gleaming, eyes aglow with power.

The word possession stares up at her, the process detailed in her own finely crafted notes. Dill anointed candles, cypress and cedar oil, frankincense, green hellebore, storax, and a lock of the victim’s hair. All easy enough to obtain.

She gently closes the book, grin fading to a small pleased smile. She allows herself a moment to revel in her intellect before prodding at Damien. His mind gently unfurls itself, his anger gone, hollowness in its place. He broadcasts his apology, bolstering her strength with some of his own.

“Damien,” He practically jerks at the sound of his name out loud, and his full attention falls onto his sister. “I found a way to maneuver ourselves into the correct position to begin the game. We can finally begin to realize our revenge. The time is upon us.”

Celine can feel the surprise, excitement, and tension the statement gives her brother, and she feels the same well up in herself as well, as the full gravity of what she’s discovered hits her. Blue flares back into their combined auras, wavering only momentarily before settling evenly across their skin. Dark’s eyes flash in excitement, baring his teeth in the mockery of a grin.

Yes, the time is upon them. The time to start something new.


	7. King's Gambit

Chapter 5

King’s Gambit

Dark strolls confidently and silently down the halls of the office building, shadows coiled loosely about their body. Occasionally when they pass humans, or even other egos, the shadows stray, teasing at them with a small lash or flick. The humans mostly look confused, and slightly wary. The egos on the other hand, jump and scurry as if they’d been burned, especially Bim, who’d been given a bit of a harsher tap in passing.

Celine’s book on witchcraft is tucked under their left arm, cradled firmly and with the utmost care as Dark makes their way to the conference room. They can hear talking even before they enter the office, and instead of entering through the door, Celine teleports them through the shadows, directly to the head of the table.

They observe the gathered egos for a moment. It’s far from all of them, just the inner circle really. The Host sits to their right, sitting silently, and undoubtedly aware of their presence given the way his body is turned slightly in their direction. Google sits to their left, interjecting forcefully from time to time with rather insightful tidbits.

The Doctor and Silver Shepherd keep trying to talk over each other, becoming progressively louder as they talk to Ed Edgar across from them. Bim sits, doing his best to ignore the three closest to him as he listens to a bandaged and wildly gesticulating Wilford.

The chatter ceases the moment the book bound in green hits the table, the slam reverberating throughout the deafening silence for a few moments as all the egos turn to face Dark. All of them, even Wilford and The Host, flinch at the sound, most of them turning to Dark with at least some fear in their eyes.

Celine smoothly takes her seat at the head of the table, the move as graceful as it is dangerous. She presents the gathered with a small smile, and there is a sharp intake of breath from Bim, who tenses in obvious fear, even as he tries to look unaffected. Celine crosses her legs, and sets her joined hands in her lap, looking each of the egos in the eyes, except The Host of course, before beginning.

“I’m sure you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the past several…days. I have decided to inform you, and only you, that I have put in motion the beginnings of a master plan to bring down the man that ruined all of our lives.” She leans back in the office chair, letting them soak in the words she hung in the air. “I will now demand of you a certain level of discretion in interacting with the younger egos, the ones who have no loyalty to this cause. I can’t have anyone but you knowing about this.”

She places both her forearms on the surface of the table, tapping her fingers occasionally as she awaits their response. It is Google who speaks first, with an uncharacteristic hesitance punctuated by glitches in his speech.

“Then why tell us at all, when you could just continue on without us knowing? Potentially manipulating us when it suites you?” Celine begins drawing small figures on the table as he talks.

“The reason? Mostly because I can’t just have pawns this time. I can’t have fools blundering blindly about, ready and willing to at any point in time disrupt my plans. I need deflectors, and cover. It also makes it easier to fish out any moles if I’ve only told the inner circle. I’ll know where to go hunting first.”

Damien’s left hand falls on the cover of the book, eyes icy as he surveys the egos. He exudes power and confidence, authority in every move he makes. He opens the book to a marked page, its corner dog-eared and worn, and tilts it towards himself as he considers.

“I cannot and will not tell you everything. I will only tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. I need my words followed to the T. Any dissent will not be tolerated. You have no choice but to place your every trust in me. I assure you, I _will_ get us through this, and I _will_ take our revenge.” His smile is as small as the one Celine wore, but far more endearing, and a few of them relax at the marked change. After a pointed moment of continued smiling, his face falls to a more serious one, Dark’s usual demeanor once again in place.

“Now, I will be gone several more days in further preparation. Please do distract the other egos and try not to get them involved. Even _I_ dislike innocents caught up in affairs that don’t concern them.” With this final statement, Dark vanishes, Celine transporting them through the shadows and back to their office.

Damien immediately begins pacing back and forth, placing the book down on the desk before summoning his cane. His hands wring the surface of the wood, brows furrowed and biting his lip. Despite his outward appearance, excitement and pleasure course through the siblings. Possibly the closest to happy they’d been in a very long time.

Damien ceases his pacing, and the cane vanishes. He reaches into the left pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out the shard of void he has taken to carrying with him. He stares at it for a moment before tapping its surface, shadows tracing its edges curiously. Its surface ripples slowly in response to his touch, and the same clothed back appears again.

“It’s okay. You’ll join us soon,” Damien states, peering intently down at them, eyes squinted with the urgency in his face and tone. “We know what we’re going to do. Death isn’t kind enough for Mark. We have something much worse in store for him,” he spits out venomously, eyes burning. The shadows turn rigid, darkening the room a slight measure, Celine’s excitement at the prospect only riling them further.

Damien takes a deep breath, and rubs his thumb against the surface of the glass, before pocketing it and exiting the office, the door closing with a soft click as his fine leather shoes whisper against cheap carpeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School man. School.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This is my first fanfic for this fandom ever?? I was really inspired by WKM, so here I am. I hope you enjoy this, I certainly have a blast writing it. Hopefully I'll actually come to something of a conclusion for this!


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